


The Dark and The Wild - Wincest Reverse Bang Challenge 2018

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, Top Dean, Wincest Reverse Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: Things have become too much for the Winchesters.  As well as their problems with archangels, a missing mom and not enough ingredients to do the spell that might find both her and Jack, they are also starting to have weird and not so ordinary feelings about each other. They need a 'normal' case.  Saving people and hunting things.However, what appears to be a simple missing person's case turns out to be so much more and, in the cover of darkness, the hunters become the hunted.Can Sam and Dean actually win this one?





	The Dark and The Wild - Wincest Reverse Bang Challenge 2018

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, huge thank you for [stargazingchola](https://stargazingchola.livejournal.com) for her amazing and inspiring art work! I wanted it so badly, and was over the moon to get it. She has done a sterling job. Please, please go give her [kudos on LJ](https://stargazingchola.livejournal.com/8564.html) or [here on Tumblr](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/the-dark-and-the-wild), because it is awesome. It has been great working with you.

_He could hear the pounding of hooves on concrete; it wasn’t right somehow, the hunters cries heard clearly over the low hum of traffic, the almost comforting sounds of night. His feet crashed hard on the street, splashing in puddles and soaking his shoes. It was so dark here, no bright lights, no comforting flash of yellow from house windows or porch lamps. The blackness seemed to encourage his pursuers, he could feel them close behind him now and hear the shouts of those on foot; the whinny of horses. It didn’t make sense, but fear drove him onward. If he stopped now he would surely die._

_An arrow, sharp and sure, whizzed close to his ear and he yelped. More arrows, turning the sky even darker, came rushing towards him. Warning shots; clipping his skin, spots of blood on his arms and thighs. He was sobbing unable to stop and he plunged onward, the world around him growing darker and darker. He heard a laugh, loud and bellowing and he felt someone – something – grab his collar and then he was rising, up and up, and then there was nothing but thick, cloying shadow and he was gone._

 

****

Sam suppressed a yawn, his eyes felt as if they were weighed down with sand and his mouth was dust dry. The coffee cup to his left was empty, nothing but gritty dregs but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to go and brew himself another pot. He glanced over to where Dean was sleeping, head pillowed on his arms, mouth slightly open, snores emitting from his mouth. A warmth that was more than fondness brought a slight smile to Sam’s lips and he resisted the urge to put his hand on his brother’s head, stroke his hair like a child.

They had pulled another all-nighter but to no avail. Despite finding one ingredient the spell was nowhere near complete, and Sam wondered if it ever would be. After their run-in with mobsters he wanted nothing more than to get back to a _normal_ hunt. He sighed and sat back in his chair, cracking his neck and rubbing his eyes furiously. His stomach grumbled and he resigned himself to moving. Perhaps coffee and bacon would revive him and he might find them something that was more suitable to their particular skills.

 

****

As predicted Dean woke the minute the meat hit the pan, and the scent of frying permeated the kitchen. His brother was nothing more than predictable as far as food was concerned and Sam couldn’t help but smile as Dean appeared in the doorway, hair all over the place and stubble almost covering the lower half of his face. He looked as awful as Sam felt.

“Bacon,” he stated, eyes bright in pale skin. “What a way to start the . . . .” He glanced at his watch and winced. “Morning.”

“Thought you might be hungry.” Sam slapped several rashers onto the plate and added some bread liberally dipped in grease. He poured coffee into a huge mug and added plenty of sugar. Dean watched him through hooded eyes and Sam offered him a small grin. “Here.” He placed the plate in front of his brother and was relieved to see him start eating almost immediately, sounds of satisfaction filling his ears and making him feel instantly lighter.

“You not eating, Sammy?” Concern colored Dean’s voice. “You need your Wheaties.”

“I’m eating,” he replied and buttered thick bread filling the slices with bacon. He was, surprisingly, hungry and he ate quickly much to Dean’s obvious delight.

 

****

 

After breakfast and a cold shower Sam felt a lot better. He would have liked to take a run, but he knew Dean liked him to stay close so he logged back into his laptop and started looking for potential cases. He knew Dean would insist they looked for more ingredients, or at least for a way of finding them, but he didn’t want to go there right now. He wanted a case, something to get his teeth into. He wanted to hunt with his brother, something mindless and violent, _saving people . . . the family business_ or, at least, what the family business had been once upon a time.

 

****

 

People were vanishing in Stowe, Vermont. It was a small town, population 4,339 and home to Vermont’s highest mountain. There were lots of outdoor activities apparently, and plenty of snow in winter. It appeared to be a place of interest and popular to visit, but tourists were starting to avoid it due to the recent rash of disappearances. Twenty people all of differing ages and sex had gone missing and, not all from the lush nature around the town. Some had vanished in the middle of the street, some from empty malls, and one from his own back garden. The only similarities Sam could see was that hoof prints had been found near the site, and every single person had gone missing at night and in very dark places. It was certainly their sort of thing. He clicked on the profiles of the missing and was shocked to see that some were little more than children.

 

“What ya lookin for?” Dean appeared over his shoulder. Like Sam he’d showered and dressed, and he smelt good. Sam surprised himself at noticing such an odd fact and he wondered, randomly, where that thought had come from. Shaking himself he turned the laptop so Dean could look at the screen.

 

“Got us a case,” he stated, blandly.

 

“Shouldn’t you be lookin for ingredients for the spell?”

 

“I’ve been looking and there isn’t anything at the moment, Dean. We need to get back to what we do best. Saving people, hunting things,” Sam said and risked a small smile. “There are people vanishing here, Dean. Some of them are just kids. They haven’t found any bodies at all, so it might be possible some of them are still alive.”

 

Dean stared at him for a long time and then his face softened.

 

“You’re right, Sammy. We should look into this.” He glanced at the laptop again. “Stowe, Vermont - should be real fun this time of year.”

 

“Just be grateful there won’t be snow.” Sam found himself smiling back. “At least you won’t have to pack your snow boots.”

 

“Good job.” Dean was openly grinning now. “Cause I don’t fucking have any!”

 

****

 

It was over a day’s drive to Stowe with an overnight stop, and Dean didn’t feel like sleeping in Baby however much he loved her. Instead he chose them a nice motel in the middle of nowhere; cheap and cheerful, it had a ‘Mom’s Apple Pie’ Diner attached to it and offered, what looked like, a good night’s sleep. Sam was grateful to his brother, he was really making the effort, really trying and they were on the same page for the first time in a long time. Sure, he wanted to save those people in Stowe but he wanted to save what he had with Dean more.

 

****

 

Stowe was a pretty little place, the sort of town that you might well want to vacation in if you actually took vacations! Sam got out of the car and stretched feeling his limbs crack. Behind him he heard Dean take deep breaths of fresh, sweet air and he did the same wondering how something so simply beautiful could harbor such darkness.

 

They found the motel and checked in. It was quaint, not really their usual style but the manager was an elderly woman who liked to talk, and Sam took the opportunity to _charm_ her and got round to the disappearances as soon as he could. The next minute Dean was heaving their bags to their room while Sam sat in the woman’s cozy sitting room with a delicate cup of coffee balanced precariously on his knee and the woman – Enid – leaning forward and whispering loudly to him about the _horror_ that had the town in its grip.

 

“There were hoof prints everywhere.” She took a loud sip of her own coffee and shook her head, misty blue eyes bright. “And apparently they found footprints, but not big boot prints like you might expect but . . . well . . . tiny little ones. Like children’s,” she said and shuddered. “And the people? Just gone . . . vanished into thin air.”

 

“What do the police think?”

 

“They haven’t a clue.” She shook her head, grey hair bobbing. “Nothing like this has ever happened here before, well not as far as they know, but there are local legends.”

 

“Oh yes,” Sam smiled encouragingly and leaned closer. “And what are they?”

 

“Oh the usual,” she said and smiled indulgently. “About fairies and sprites and changelings - you know, fairy children being left and the real child snatched away. Some of the older folk claim to have seen lights in the forest at night, and heard laughter and such.”

 

“I see.” Sam schooled his face so it looked like she was telling him something outrageous, something unbelievable. It wasn’t much but it was a lead and, deep down in his memory, he knew that they’d worked a case involving fairies before. He didn’t recall much about it as it had been _soulless Sam_ who had been with Dean then, and his brother said little or nothing about that time in their history. However, it was something to go on and he excused himself politely and made his way to their room.

 

****

 

“Fairy’s?” Dean shook his head, he was lying on the chintzy bedcover ankles crossed. Dad’s journal sat balanced on his knees. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

 

“It’s only legends, Dean but it’s something to go on.” Sam peered outside. It was getting darker, grey clouds hanging low and the sun vanished from sight. He could make out the distant forests and the silhouette of the mountain looming over them. Despite the bright motel lights he felt oddly vulnerable, goose bumps prickling across the back of his neck.

 

“Yeah, well - fairies are douchebags!” Dean closed the journal carefully. “Didn’t like them much at all.”

 

“I don’t really remember much,” Sam began but Dean waved a hand.

 

“Yeah, well, good job then,” was all he said.

 

****

 

_Her mom had told her not to take this shortcut home but, as usual, she had ignored her. Now she realized her mom had been right and she was a total idiot to go against her advice. The street light burnt bright over-head, and she felt as if she were bathed in orange. Behind her there was the distant thundering of hooves and other, random, noises that could have been shouts or cries. She quickened her pace then, began to half run, half walk. She had to get off this path, away from the light. She could hide in the darkness and whoever – whatever – was behind her wouldn’t catch her. She swallowed hard and dipped to the side, left the path and moved swiftly towards the woods._

_The noise grew louder then, and she could feel the ground beneath her shake. It was too dark to see anything but the reverberations were so strong that she couldn’t keep her feet and she toppled forward, her body hitting soft earth. She could hear laughter behind her; a soft tinkling sound like children giggling as she tried to crawl away. It was growing darker and darker and with every single loss of light the sounds became stronger, more insistent. She could feel tears wet on her cheeks and she opened her mouth to scream but then there was a sudden, unexpected brightness, the whinny of a horse and then nothing._

 

****

 

“I can’t believe it happened last night – virtually under our noses.” Sam slammed the laptop down with some force and Dean winced. 

 

“Sammy,” his voice was placating. “You weren’t to know. I mean we only just got here.” There was concern in his brother’s gaze and Sam felt his stomach roll uncomfortably. The odd feeling in his gut was recognizable but not in connection with Dean.

 

“I know,” he said and took a breath to calm himself. “But I just wanted to get . . . ,” he swallowed, “back on track. I wanted to save people, not lose them.”

 

“I get that, Sammy, I do. Let’s get some information from the police scanner and suit up. We can go look at the scene first hand and see if we can get any clues.”

 

“Okay.” he managed a tremulous smile. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize to me, Sam.” Dean was already stripping out of his tee-shirt and hunting for his white shirt. “You don’t ever need to do that, okay?”

 

He nodded and bit his lip. There was a distinct taste of salt in the back of his throat and a stinging behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure where this was all coming from, but it scared him. It scared him more than he cared to admit.

 

“Okay, Dean.” He began to look for his own _Fed_ suit and tried to ignore the churning sensation that seemed to thrum throughout his entire body. 

 

Deep down though he knew he could never stop saying sorry. Through the years he’d done a lot that needed to be forgiven, and he wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry - not now, and not ever.

 

****

 

“Look at those footprints.” Sam squatted down and squinted at the path. “Whatever happened she came off about here,” he said and pointed to the indents in the mud. “She was obviously looking for somewhere to hide.” He looked up at the street lamp above his head. “Trying to find somewhere away from the light.”

 

“Yeah, well, that makes sense at least.” Dean could see where the footprints suddenly stopped. “It would have been as black as fucking pitch back here. Whoever, or whatever was following her must have had a flashlight, or something.”

 

“I guess.” Sam frowned. He was sure there were other prints in the mud; not just footprints but hoof prints too. The girl’s prints were obvious because she looked as if she had been wearing sports shoes, or something similar. The other prints were odd, and confusing. They were tiny, like the girl had been followed by a group of kids. Sam recalled what Enid had told him. “Dean does this seem like a fairy thing to you? I mean look at these other marks here – they’re tiny. I mean, I’m guessing the victim wasn’t chased by a bunch of children.”

 

“Fucking fairies,” Dean’s reaction was vehement. “From what I remember they were usually airborne and didn’t run along the ground like this. The ones that _took_ me had fucking wings and some of them were life size, y’know? Like you, or me.” He looked at the hoof prints. “And there were no horses involved either.”

 

Sam sighed and got to his feet, knees cracking. Around them the local cops were working on the crime scene, looking for clues. He knew they thought the girl was the latest victim of a serial killer but he was certain now that this was something supernatural, he just couldn’t put the clues together.

 

“I need to go back to the motel and do some more research,” he said. “I need to try and make the pieces fit. Maybe we can talk more about the fairies.”

 

“Not happening, Sammy.”

 

“Dean, it’s not as if the wall is gonna break now is it?” he tried to keep his voice light. “I know it was a difficult time for you but it might help in this case.”

 

Dean sighed, green eyes met his and he felt his heartbeat quicken, his breath catch in his throat for a moment. It was weird this feeling, something buried deep inside that was slowly making its way to the surface and Sam felt as if he was losing control, losing his sanity. He forced a smile then and his brother’s shoulders visibly relaxed as Dean returned his smile with a grin of his own.

 

“Yeah. Okay, Sam,” he said, finally. “Let’s go back and look into this thing.”

 

****

 

He woke with a start. It was pitch black in the room and he couldn’t even see his hand in front of him. His fingers trembled a little as he reached for the light switch and he wondered what had caused him to wake so suddenly, the remnants of whatever dream he was having fading away.

 

“Sam?”

 

Dean’s voice was soft in the darkness and he heard his brother shift, heard the bed creak and the shiver of sheets being pushed back.

 

“I’m okay,” even as he spoke he knew it to be a lie. “It’s just so fucking dark in here.”

 

There was a click then and light flooded the room making him wince. He rubbed his eyes and turned to see Dean staring across at him, concern written obvious on his face.

 

“Nightmare?”

 

“I don’t know.” He shivered and pushed himself up in bed. He could see more clearly now and he was aware that Dean was sitting up, the covers pooled around his waist, his chest bare and gleaming in the light of the lamp. Sam tried not to stare, fixing his eyes on Dean’s tattoo rather than look at his brother’s body. “I guess.”

 

“This case is getting to you, isn’t it?”

 

Sam nodded. The foolish taste of salt was back, and he tried to blame the stinging of his eyes on the light. He had been researching for hours but he still felt as if he was miles away from the truth. Dean had promised to talk to him about the fairy case but they still hadn’t discussed it. Sam knew that his brother was reluctant enough to keep putting it off, hoping Sam would forget but he wouldn’t. He was certain, well 99% certain, that this particular case had something to do with fairies but none of the lore he had read mentioned anything like they had found here.

 

He got out of bed then and went over to the window, throwing back the drapes and fumbling with the catch. He was acutely aware of how dark it was outside; their motel was on the very edge of town and there was little or no lighting, the outlines of the mountains barely visible in the thin silver strip of moonlight. He shuddered again and breathed in deep, fresh air filling his lungs.

 

“I don’t like it here,” he sounded childish, even to his own ears. “It’s . . . weird.”

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “You’re weird.”

 

“Yeah, I’m aware I am, but seriously there’s something off about this whole place.”

 

“Sam, you need to sleep and so do I. I know we aren’t making much progress but we will. We’ll catch the bad guy and save the day and then we’ll go back to the bunker and save mom.” 

 

Sam was silent for the longest of moments and he could feel his brother’s eyes on him. He knew he had to say something, anything to take away the worry in Dean’s voice.

 

“Okay,” he replied and pulled the drapes shut, but left the window open. Somehow the night air was comforting, and he felt sure the sweet scent of it would help him sleep again. “Let’s talk again over breakfast.”

 

“Yeah, bacon,” Dean chuckled, “Solves everything.”

 

****

 

_It was too bright here and he was sure to be spotted. He buried his head in his hands and told himself that, at ten years old, he was a big boy and shouldn’t cry. He bit his lip and turned around looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide. He couldn’t hear them so clearly now, couldn’t hear the monsters so perhaps they had gone away. He didn’t know why they wanted him so badly, he hadn’t been bad at all and he said his prayers nearly every night. He could see the forest in the distance and he lifted his chin. If he hid there, in the darkness, they would never, ever find him and he would be safe home in bed. He got up and started to run towards the trees. He never thought he would want to be in the dark but he had to wriggle into the trees as far as he could. He had to._

_Then he heard them again - the monsters. The shouts, and the loud brays of the horses. He held his breath and began to look about him wildly but he couldn’t see anything, it was too dark. They surely couldn’t find him in here, he had to be safe. Something whizzed by his ear and planted itself into the tree nearest to him. It was an arrow, gleaming silver, glowing and wicked sharp. He began to cry then, unable to hold back tears. The shouting was getting closer and he could hear laughter too, high and tinkling. Footsteps nearby made him scream out loud and then he was blinded by sudden and fiery light. He cried out again and big hands grabbed him as he was pulled up into the air, and then he was gone._

 

****

Enid was sobbing softly as Sam stood by the reception desk for a moment, awkward, and then he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

 

“I know it’s none of my business, but are you okay?”

 

“It’s my grandson,” she said and took a shuddering breath and looked up, eyes red and tearstained. “He vanished from his room last night. The window was open, and his mom thought he might have climbed out to go and look at the puppies in the barn but she couldn’t find him. She called the police and they found . . . .” she blew her nose and wiped at her eyes. “They found his jacket on the path, and his prints leading into the woods. They are searching the place but they can’t find anything.”

 

Sam swallowed hard, he was aware of Dean appearing behind him already suited up and ready to go. He heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath and he shook his head. He knew how much cases that involved young people affected Dean, and the pain he felt was strong enough for both of them.

 

“We were on our way out Ma’am,” he spoke softly, voice gentle. “We’ll swing by there right now, and offer our help.”

 

“Thank you.” She gave him a tremulous and unconvincing smile. “Thank you both.”

 

They left the motel and climbed into baby, the silence between them spoke volumes and neither knew what to say to make this right. As they drove along the winding road that made its way to the forest Sam stared out of the window. The mountains were shrouded in mist, and there was a slow drizzle of rain that splattered against the windscreen and hissed beneath the tires. He felt a terrible sense of failure and he wanted to scream. Beside him Dean’s eyes were wide and he glared at the tarmac as if he hated it. Something inside of Sam shifted and he wanted to put his hand on his brother’s knee, wanted to hold him close and offer him comfort. It was an odd, almost dark feeling and he shook it off, knowing they had bigger fish to fry.

 

The edge of the forest was swarming with people. Cops, local residents and, now, TV cameras and reporters who scurried around looking for people to interview. Sam ignored them all and went straight across the path into the dip of the trees, Dean said nothing but he followed automatically, his hand patting subconsciously at his back pocket.

 

“Fuck!” Sam stopped abruptly, Dean almost cannoning into him. “Look at this, Dean.”

 

Dean followed his gaze and found there was a tiny arrow sticking out of the tree trunk. It was shiny silver with decorative feathers of some kind all along the shaft. Sam bent down and tugged it and it came out easily, looking minute in the palm of his hand.

 

“What the fuck?” Dean took the arrow from Sam and turned it over with his fingers. It felt warm on his skin and he frowned. “This is some clue.”

 

Sam nodded as he stood up and shook the dampness from his hair, wiping a trickle of water away. Neither of them had been aware of how hard it was raining and they were both soaked, their suits sticking to their bodies, shoes mud-caked.

 

“I think we should go back to the motel and look this up.” Sam watched as Dean wrapped the arrow in an old burger wrapper.

Dean nodded and the rain trickled from under his hairline and along his cheek like a single tear. His face was pale, full lips turning blue with cold. Sam reached out without thinking and wiped the water away, his fingers sweeping across Dean’s high-boned cheeks and under his eye. The noise and hum of the searchers faded and there was no sound but their own harsh breathing. Sam’s body felt tense, muscles taut and aching. That strange compulsion was there again, a feeling that shouldn’t even be acted upon, an urge that was both inappropriate and improper. Dean’s eyelashes flickered and he closed his eyes for a moment leaning into Sam’s gentle touch. It was a brief moment in time, the both of them frozen where they stood, a need and a want that was unthinkable.

 

****

 

“I think I’ve found something.” Sam’s shoulders were cramped from where he had been hunched over the laptop, his eyes sore from staring. The clock on the wall told him it was nearly 11pm and he’d sat down to research at just after 5. Dean was lying on the bed with dad’s journal in his hand, eyes closed. Sam hadn’t been aware of him dozing off but he wasn’t actually surprised.

 

“What?” Like the alert hunter he was, Dean was awake within seconds of hearing Sam’s voice. He dropped the journal beside him on the bed and got up slowly. Beneath his freckles his face was still milk pale and the shadows beneath his eyes gave him a supernatural aura. Sam knew he must look the same and it hurt him to think how much this _job_ had cost them, and not just this random hunt but all of the shit they’d dealt with over the years. Shit that just never stopped coming.

 

“The Wild Hunt.” Sam forced a smile knowing Dean wouldn’t like to see him looking so downbeat.

 

“The wild what now?” Dean appeared beside him and bent down so he could look more closely at the laptop.

 

“ _When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths. Those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees - a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.”_ Sam read slowly and carefully, _"But then the barking of dogs fills the air, and the host of wild souls sweeps down, fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and the hooves of the black horses."_   
Sam looked at Dean’s, frankly, puzzled expression. “It’s a poem by Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson, called ‘Mountain Thunder’. It’s a poem about the wild hunt. There’s lore about it in nearly every single European country, but it has Norse connections. A lot of countries adapt the lore to suit their particular landscape or customs.”

 

“So what the fuck is this wild hunt? And why do you think it’s what could be happening here?”

 

“Well the basic idea is generally the same. There’s a phantasmal leader, accompanied by a horde of hounds and men. They hurtle through the night sky, and their passing is marked by a tumultuous racket of pounding hooves, howling dogs and raging winds. The quarry of this spectral horde also varies, but Christian influences had the Wild Hunt summoning the souls of evildoers, sinners and unbaptized infants. In Britain though they believed that the wild hunt also kidnapped the living, and took them down beneath the mountains. They were also known to take children from their beds. There is a strong connection between the Wild Hunt and fairies too, some legends claim that the hunt is led by Odin, but others say Herne the hunter. In a lot of lore the phantasmal leader is connected with the fairy realm and the huntsmen themselves are fairies, elves, gnomes, and sprites.” He managed a wry laugh. “The whole nine.”

 

“But why should what’s happening here be the wild hunt? Not just some random fairy thing?”

 

“Well for starters there’s the hoof prints and the tiny arrow. Secondly this place is just the sort of location that _the hunt_ frequent - mountains and forests. Though they seem to have branched out into the center of the town in this case. Thirdly and most importantly, the wild hunt thrives in the dark. They hunt at night, under the cover of blackness. They shy away from the light, in fact it’s a sort of reverse scenario. You are safer hiding under a street lamp than you would be huddling in a shop doorway,” he said and shrugged. “You get the idea.”

 

“Sounds pretty plausible I guess, I mean if this is what’s happening here then it might mean the people they _took_ are still alive somewhere.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean’s hope made Sam’s own blossom slow and warm in his chest. He gave his brother a genuine smile and was rewarded by one in return, ignoring the fact that it made his heart beat quicken, or his pulse thudding rapidly in his wrist. Whatever was happening here in town had to come first, and then he’d deal with these feelings for Dean and, in the meantime, try hard not to act on them and scare his brother away.

 

**** 

 

“So if it is this hunt of yours, how do we draw it out?” Dean had insisted they put away the laptop and have dinner/supper/a really early breakfast. It was well past midnight now, and as black as pitch outside. Sam imagined the supernatural huntsman getting ready to ride out and capture another innocent soul, and it made him shiver. That said, he had no clue as to how to go about stopping this.

 

“I don’t know.” He picked up a slice of pizza. It had been amazing to find a place open twenty-four hours, but it was even more astonishing that the pizza and ribs they had had delivered were so fucking good. He bit into the hot melted cheese and closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t have a frigging clue to be honest.”

 

Dean was silent for a while and Sam concentrated on eating. After a while the food was gone, but he was still out of ideas and he felt both exhausted and frustrated.

 

“The fairies that took me were after first born sons,” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and his sudden confession shocked Sam. “Some sort of deal with the watchmaker that had spiraled out of control.”

 

“That’s why they took you then?” Sam caught his brother’s eye.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t remember anything about it.” Dean’s cheeks flushed a little. “It wasn’t a particularly good time, y’know.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It wasn’t you, Sammy.” Green eyes met his, soft and gentle. 

 

“It was me, or a version of me, Dean.” He would never stop feeling guilty about the year or so he spent soulless. He would never stop regretting all the fucking things he did to his brother. True, he didn’t remember much of it but he’d heard enough from Cas, and from Bobby when he had been alive, to know he had been a bag full of dicks.

 

“I never thought of _him_ as you.” Dean reached over and, unexpectedly, put his hand on Sam’s thigh. He squeezed it, comforting. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened back then, so you have to stop blaming yourself.”

 

Sam swallowed; he could feel his whole body thrum, hot where Dean’s hand laid, his long neglected cock swelling unexpected in his sweatpants. Dean’s eyes met his again and there was a challenge there. His brother licked his lips slowly and Sam couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped him, the urge to lay back and let Dean touch him all over almost too much to resist. Resist he did though, and he got to his feet suddenly, the world spinning.

 

“We have to . . . um . . . we have to find out how to stop this hunt, Dean,” he was proud of how steady his voice was. “Before someone else gets hurt.”

 

Dean nodded but Sam could see his face drop, his expression morph into one of almost fake concern. 

 

“So, full circle, how do we do that Sam?”

 

“I don’t know. There must be some connection between the victims. Something tenuous, I guess. I don’t think it is just random.”

 

“Well some of them were women, so it isn’t just first born sons.” Dean shook his head as if to clear it. “So we aren’t going down that route.”

 

Sam found himself smothering a yawn; lack of sleep and the long hours researching hitting him abruptly. “We should talk to Enid in the morning. We need to find something out about her grandson, and then maybe we can put the pieces together.”

 

“Okay.” Dean threw the empty pizza box onto the floor and moved over to his own bed. Sam watched through hooded eyes as he started to fling off his clothing; pants, shirt, and jacket all landing angrily onto the floor. Sam sighed, the last thing he wanted was to hurt his brother but, somehow, he had succeeded and he lay back for a moment on his own pillow contemplating his next move. 

 

****

 

“I know this will be painful.” Sam sat down next to Enid and gripped both of her hands. Dean stood nearby, stiff and silent in his FBI suit, eyes on anywhere but Sam. “But can you tell us a little more about your grandson.” 

 

“Liam?” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes again. She seemed older, bowed, a different person to the one Sam had met only days ago. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

 

“I’m sorry but not at this moment, however we do have a slight lead and we just need some more information. We need information that might help us.”

 

“Alright.” She took Sam’s hands again and held them firm. “Ask away.”

 

“This might seem a strange question but do you know if there is any connection between Liam and the other people who have gone missing, anything at all. Are they members of the same club, or went to the same school, or from the same part of town.”

 

“I . . . well, there were other children who went missing but they were younger than Liam, and one of them didn’t even go to nursery. As for clubs, well there aren’t too many here in town. There’s the skiing club of course, and a few musical groups and the local drama group too but Liam wasn’t in any of them.”

 

Sam and Dean exchanged glances; this case was slipping away from them and they were losing ground rather than gaining it. Sam bit his lip and shook his head slightly.

 

“Is there anything you can think of? Anything?”

 

“Well, there is the European connection.”

 

“European?”

 

“Yes. A lot of the townsfolk here had ancestors who came over from Ireland,” she said and managed a shaky laugh. “You can see it reflected in some of the stores here – ‘O’Neil’s’ public house for instance, and the ‘Angry Leprechaun’. My maiden name was York, but my married name is Kelly. My late husband’s father, Liam’s great grandfather, came over here to make a better life,” she sighed. “I guess that isn’t very helpful is it?”

 

Sam resisted the urge to leap to his feet and fist bump the air. 

 

“Far from it, Enid any information could aid us in our investigation. Thank you.”

 

He hoped that the hopeful look on her face wouldn’t quickly turn to disappointment and he got to his feet determined. Now they had something at least, and they might, just might, be able to save these people.

 

****

 

“So. . . .” Dean poured him a coffee and sat on the bed. “We have some sort of lead, but how the fuck are we gonna lure out this _wild hunt_? We don’t even know if it is the hunt anyway.”

 

“Yeah, we do. It makes sense, Dean.” Sam sipped at the coffee, it was hot and sharp on his tongue. “The lore says that the hunt was prevalent in European countries, particularly those in Scandinavia and the UK. Ireland is a country packed full of myths and legends, and tales of the hunt were told there going right back to medieval times. The spoken myth might have travelled with the people who came here, but it appears in this case that the _actual_ myth has travelled too.”

 

“I guess.” Dean rubbed his face. “But my first point still stands. How do we lure this hunt out?”

 

“I guess we start looking to see how many people in town had ancestors that came from Ireland. If we start with the victims we might be able to narrow our search down to one or two people.”

 

“And then what? Follow them around and hope that the hunt comes for them. That might take weeks, months even.”

 

“No.” Sam leaned forward. “We are heading towards spring, with warmer days and lighter nights. The hunt thrives in darkness. When the season turns, and daylight hours get longer and longer, it will make it harder for them. I might be wrong, but my guess is that they will stop hunting or at least till winter comes again.”

 

“Geek.” Dean’s gaze was fond and Sam found himself flushing stupidly. “Well it’s late now so we should do some research tomorrow and start from there. What we need is sleep and food, and everything will be peachy.”

 

“Okay.” Sam made Dean’s statement truth by smothering a yawn. Outside the watery winter sunshine was dipping into shadow and he couldn’t hold back a shudder as he thought of what might lurk in the darkness. Even after all these years, decades, he still got that familiar shiver of fear when they dealt with the supernatural and, despite everything they had been through, he probably always would.

 

“Sammy, let it go. Remember, be like Elsa and let it go.” He managed a huff of laughter and Dean rewarded him with a soft smile as his brother’s big hand reached out and squeezed his knee. An odd sensation thrummed through him and he found himself leaning into the touch. “Now drink your fucking coffee and order us some food, I’ve a fancy for a horror marathon and some awesome ribs.”

 

****

 

Further research showed that, firstly, every single victim had had ancestors or close relations who had come over from Ireland. Some of the emigrants had come here nearly one hundred years before but some were more recent arrivals such as Liam’s great grandfather. Secondly, there appeared to be only two residents remaining who had Irish descendants. The first was an elderly man who ran the small village bakery, and the second a young woman who worked as a barmaid in The Angry Leprechaun. 

 

“Well I guess that makes it easier.” Dean grinned, wickedly. “One of us needs to watch these people very, very closely. Tail them subtly of course.”

 

“Yeah, makes sense.” Sam was jotting down the names and locations of the potential victims. “But first we need to find a way to fight the hunt. There is very little in the lore. Most of the myths and legends tell of people seeing the hunt, but not one of them mentions anyone trying to defy it.”

 

“I guess we will have to go with the old favorites then - guns, knives, angel blades, holy water and salt,” Dean counted off the weapons on his fingers. “During that fairy case, you - soulless you. . . .” His cheeks flared red and he lowered his eyes. “Found out that if you spill salt in front of a fairy they have to stop and count every grain.”

 

“That’s a good tip, Dean.” Sam hated this. He hated when Dean avoided talking about the cases they worked while he was soulless. He wanted to tell Dean it didn’t matter anymore, and that he was sorry for everything he’d done but, most of all, he wanted to lighten the moment, remove any tension that still existed between him and his brother. “But we are talking more than just fairies here. Who knows who leads this hunt? It could be anyone. It could be any fantastical being and there’s not just fairies. Some hunts include gnomes, sprites, ghostly horses and even the spirits of the dead.”

 

“So, salt counting’s out then?”

 

“Maybe. It could work, I guess.” Sam forced a smile but he could see by the expression in Dean’s eyes he’d failed miserably. “Dean. . . .”

 

“No chick flick moments, Sammy.”

 

Sam managed a real but watery grin then and he stared at his brother for the longest of moments. He found the need to hold him almost overwhelming in its intensity, and he found himself leaning forward, arms out, pulling Dean into him, close and then closer; the two of them so tight together he could feel his brother’s heart-beating and feel Dean’s body hard against his own.

 

“Sammy. Sam.” Dean’s words were feather light, tone soft and almost tender. Sam felt the need to close his eyes and he let his lids drop, hiding in the darkness, and hiding in plain sight.

 

He knew it was going to happen before it actually did. Dean’s mouth on his own, a tentative touch of lips. He groaned then, tipped his head back, let Dean control what was happening. He let Dean open his mouth wider and seek entry with his tongue. It should have felt so weird and so wrong, but it didn’t. It felt so damn good, and all Sam could do was to cling on and press impossibly, closer. Their last big sin, a bridge burned, a line firmly crossed and neither of them cared. Finally Dean drew away, and Sam dared to open his eyes to stare into shocked emerald orbs and wonder just what would happen next.

****

 

Sam sighed and stared across the empty street at the bakery. He could see the elderly man who owned it working diligently, laying out loaves of fresh bread and tidying the displays of cakes. If he’d thought about it clearly he might have known that his brother would, swiftly, hide in denial. That they wouldn’t even attempt to talk about the _kiss_ , and that Dean would make some lewd remark and make the decision that he was going to follow the pretty young barmaid while Sam was left to observe the baker. Sam shivered, it was cold for early spring and he could see his breath in the air. The baker kept long hours and Sam had been here since - he glanced at his watch. Fuck, since 6am and it felt like forever. It was approaching 4pm now and dusk was still a few hours away. He was certain that the hunt wouldn’t appear until darkness fell, and he looked over to the ‘Angry Leprechaun’ and wondered just what Dean might be doing right now. Flirting probably, drinking his beer slowly, wrapping his mouth around the rim, eyes closed in bliss as he wallowed in the coldness of the liquid. Sam swallowed then, and fidgeted on the bench. His pants were oddly tight and he felt a mixture of tamped down lust, frustration and shame. He shouldn’t think about his brother like this, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t prevent his thoughts from going in that direction. He sighed again, and rubbed his hands across his face. He wished he’d never started this. He wished they’d never come to this place. Perhaps, he mused, foolishly there was some magic here, something affecting him and Dean. He looked up to the sky, watched the clouds skitter across the watery, fading sun. Whatever happened here, they might not be able to come back from this time and his heart ached with it.

 

****

 

The lights in the shop went out and, for one long moment, the street was plunged into darkness. Then the street lamps began to glow, orange light that was both jarring and comforting. Sam stood up and cracked his spine, legs aching. In the shop he could just about see the baker shoulder into his coat, and then he watched as the man came out and began to fumble with the lock.

 

“Hey!”

 

He turned instantly and saw his brother running towards him; Dean’s face was pale, cheeks red, hair flattened down with sweat. The baker, who had finished locking up, raised his head to see what the commotion was, and Sam gave him a weak smile and a genial wave. 

 

“Dean, are you okay?” Instant concern for his brother almost floored him. “What’s happened?”

 

“Nothing.” Dean huffed, wiping at his forehead. “Absolutely fucking nothing. I’ve sat on that barstool for over five hours, and if I drink another soda I’m gonna go insane – I switched out from beer over two hours ago - not gonna be drunk on the job.”

 

“You left her?” Sam was still half watching the baker who was now crossing the street to talk to them. He looked angry and Sam couldn’t really blame him. He probably thought Sam was some sort of weird stalker.

 

“She’s okay in there for a while. The place is bright enough, and the music loud enough.” Dean cocked his head in the direction of the baker. “What’s up with him?”

 

“I guess he might think I’m casing the joint. I’ve been here long enough.”

 

The baker was right up in their faces now, his wrinkled face heated, and his expression grim.

 

“I should call the cops,” he began without preamble. “You’ve been watching me all day, and there better be an explanation or I damn well will call them.”

 

Sam opened his mouth but the explanation he’d been trying to cook up never came. The streetlights flickered once, twice and then died, plunging them all into darkness.

 

****

 

He could hear it; the loud cantering of hooves, yells and yips, high, wild laughter. Sam turned to his brother.

 

“Yeah,” Dean answered the unasked question. “I can hear them.”

 

“What’s going on?” Beside him the baker’s voice wavered with fear. “Is this some sort of robbery?”

 

“Just listen.” Sam’s heart was pounding, there was coldness to the air that he would usually associate with spirits and the darkness was cloying. He could see Dean fumbling in his pocket for a flashlight and he began searching for his own. “Get back inside your shop, and turn on all the lights. Do you understand me? You’ll be safe then.”

 

“What the hell?” The baker looked as if he might protest, but Sam pushed him hard in the chest.

 

“Just do it,” he said.

 

Even as he spoke he could see them coming. He could see them cutting through the darkness with their own unnatural light. There were jet black horses; their manes long and silver, and their hooves not touching the ground. On their backs were creatures that might have been human in form, but were certainly not of this world. Masks covered their faces, and their bodies covered in cloaks made of leaves and twigs. Running in front of them were other unearthly beings, tiny in comparison, faces ageless and carved in mischief. They carried arrows in slings on their backs and they drew their bows as they got nearer, their laughter loud and chilling. Behind the horsemen were other things, white and insubstantial, human spirits, the dead risen. They came in slow motion, legions of them. The most frightening sight Sam had ever witnessed, and he’d witnessed enough in his life, but nothing ever like this.

 

“Fuck.” Dean moved closer to him then, protective, his whole body shaking with both fear and loathing. From the corner of his eye, beyond the noise and chaos of the hunt, Sam saw the store light go on and he breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that the baker was safe, for now. He didn’t have much time to reflect as Dean grabbed his arm, pulled hard and painful and they began to run, run towards the store, hoping desperately for the light to cover them. Something whistled past Sam’s ear and he knew it was an arrow, he tried to duck but another caught him, exquisite pain slicing along his cheekbone, blood splattering cold down his face.

 

“We can’t fight them, Dean.” He was panting hard, the things so close now he could hear their laughter, and feel the fetid breath of the horses on his body.

 

“We can try.” Dean pulled him into a gap at the side of the store. It was too dark there, much too dark, the single light too far away to have any effect. Sam could see his brother had been caught too, there was blood smearing his head and a deep wound in his arm. Arrows still came at them and Sam felt a sharp stab in his ankle as one of the creatures lunched at him with a sword. Darkness surrounded them but there was no hiding place. The shadows were their enemy, not their friend. Sam managed to flick on his flashlight and he pointed it directly at one of the tiny creatures. It hissed and cringed back, sharp teeth gritted as it flung an arm across its face. Dean waved his own flashlight then, arcs of light hitting one creature after another, forcing them back. Sam was panting hard now, the pain from his wounds making him feel weak, drained. This was magic, more powerful than anything he had ever come across and he knew, with certainty that they would die here in the dark.

****

 

“You are not the one we seek – the one we have marked,” the voice, when it came, was loud, otherworldly. It seemed to echo, to resonate. Sam wanted to smack his hands over his ears but he remained where he was, crouched down with his weapon in his hand, the flashlight lying on the floor beside him. Dean inched closer and Sam felt a firm hand on his thigh. His brother’s fingers dug into the meat of his skin and Sam took comfort from that deep and earthly pain. 

 

“You will look at me,” the voice commanded. “You will obey me.”

 

Sam raised his head; his eyes hurt and his whole body throbbed with pain. Above him, almost hovering there was a rider astride a black horse with a sliver mane. The thing – Sam couldn’t call it a man – was huge, broad shouldered, clawed hands gripping hard onto the horses reins. It wore a mask that covered its entire visage and, behind it, Sam saw glowing red eyes.

“The marked one is within.” An imperious hand pointed towards the store. “You will bring him to me.”

 

“Not happening,” the words were ground out through clenched teeth and Sam could almost feel the tension in Dean’s reply.

 

“He belongs to us,” The thing laughed, loud and strident, sharp teeth gnashing. Before it, the tiny, soldiers giggled like children and drew more arrows from their slings. “You will give him to us.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Hunched in the darkness Sam was still looking for something, anything that he could use to dispel the hunt. Their feeble flashlights couldn’t shed enough light to repel them, and even if they did find some solution they couldn’t destroy the hunt. It would return. For the first time, in a long time, Sam felt hopeless but worse than that, he felt real, tangible terror.

 

“Because we hunt,” the leader spoke again and his voice was so loud it made Sam’s eardrums ache.

 

“Then take me instead.” Sam looked into those deep red eyes and shuddered, it reminded him of Crowley and all the other fucking crossroads demons he’d faced in the past, and he wished he had some way of killing the fucker.

 

“Sammy, no!” beside him his brother’s voice wavered and he saw the feeble arc of Dean’s flashlight spray across the creature’s face. It hissed a little but the light did little more than sting him, and it was obvious that it wasn’t going to work. Sam ignored Dean’s plea. It hurt him to do so. It hurt him to cause his brother pain in this way, but it was all he could think to do right now.

 

“And why would I take you? You are not marked. You are not from the old country. You would not be of use to us.”

 

“Because I’m a damn good hunter,” Sam said and raised his eyes and looked the thing right in the face. “And I would be of GREAT use to you.”

 

“You can take me too,” Dean’s voice echoed his and Sam might have known his brother wouldn’t ever let him go alone. “I’m a hunter too, and I can offer you much.”

 

“Hunters?” it might have been a smile on the things face. “You had come to destroy us, and yet you now wish to join with us?”

 

“Yes.” Sam stood up on wobbly legs. It was as black as pitch, the light in the store was flickering now, and the distant street lamps of the town seemed miles away. Perhaps they could light something up, perhaps a fire might give them enough light to destroy these monsters but it may also destroy the town they were desperately trying to save. “We will give our souls to you, if you leave this town and release the souls you have already taken. Set them free.”

 

There was silence then, all Sam could hear was the heavy breathing of the horses and the occasional sniggers from the tiny army. Dean moved impossibly closer and put a hand on his arm, gentle fingers slid down and gripped his bare wrist and Sam wanted to weep, knowing that his brother was there with him, knowing that they would be together wherever they went.

 

“We are weary,” the thing’s voice was lower now, the resonance gone. “Weary of this. We want to return to the old country, to ride through the grey skies and to fly along the deep rivers and the streams. We want to raise our own dead from their slumber, and let them hunt with us. We tire of this place with its artificial light. We long for endless forests and limitless moors.” It looked down at Sam, eyes glowing. “Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for this mortal is noble, but if you want us to set him, and the others free, take us home.”

 

Sam glanced at his brother, the confusion on Dean’s face must be mirrored on his own. Both of them had been willing to die here, to become supernatural hunters in every sense, but now, now they were confronted with a new, more pressing problem and neither of them knew how to solve it.

 

****

 

“I’m not afraid.”

Sam peered through the cloying darkness to see the baker come out of his shop. He carried a small lantern which threw out a little light, and Sam could see the wrinkles of time on his face and he wondered if he would ever make old bones.

 

“You were fucking told to stay inside,” the tension in Dean came out as anger, and Sam touched his arm again, soothing. Before them the hunt shifted, horses moving, hooves still above the ground. The tiny fairies and gnomes were growing restless, fingers twitched and reached for arrows, eyes looking skywards as they searched for the dawn.

 

“I know what you told me.” The baker smiled. “But I chose to ignore it. I heard what you and your partner said, and what you tried to do. The fact that you – total strangers – would sacrifice yourself for me is . . . well, words won’t begin to describe. The others they took, they were young. They had their lives ahead of them. Me? I’m an old man and I am ready.” He lifted his eyes to the leader of the hunt. “I read stories about you when I was a young boy. My grandfather had a book of legends. I never imagined that you might exist. Are you Herne? Or another?”

 

“Who I am, is of no importance,” the creature’s voice was even lower than before. He stood tall on his mount and waved an imperious hand. As if by magic the rest of the hunt dispersed, fading away, becoming more and more insubstantial. Sam wondered if he had imagined it all, if this was some fevered nightmare, but the presence of the leader told him that it was all so very real. “But what I stand for is. The darkness is diminishing now, and soon the light will come. Will you take us home?”

 

“Aye.” The baker’s face was impassive. “I will buy myself a ticket home as soon as the stores are open. I will go back to the old country and you will follow my soul.”

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said and tried to stand but he felt weak now; the blood on his face and chest still flowing sluggishly. He still had his flashlight and he attempted to lift it. 

 

“I want to do it,” the old man said and smiled. “But you.” He gestured to the hunter. “Have to free all of the others.”

 

“Done”

 

And with that one word there was a sharp flash of light, a rumble that sounded like thunder that shook the entire area like an earthquake. Sam felt Dean’s arm around his shoulder and he was aware of being dragged out of the syrupy darkness into the ever growing light; oranges and silvers, bright and almost unbearable, Sam closed his eyes briefly until he heard his brother’s whispered, _”Son of a bitch.”_.

 

Sam opened his eyes and saw that the mountain appeared to split open, the earth trembling. Instead of darkness there was more and more light, blinding in its intensity. Sam felt Dean pull him forward and he went, as ever obedient to his brother’s urging. They staggered along the road and towards the forest and, even as they did so, they heard cries and shouts as people came down the mountain and ran towards them. There was a small parade of individuals; children, teenagers, slightly older, all confused looking. There were at least twenty, perhaps more and their pace quickened as they got closer and closer. Sam opened his mouth to speak but found he had lost all of his words. He turned to look at his brother and the world whirled sudden around him, and he hit the mossy earth with a thud, darkness swallowing him once more.

 

**** 

 

“Back in one piece.” Dean passed Sam the whiskey bottle and he drank from it gratefully. His chest, now neatly stitched, was sore and his head hurt but Dean was right, he was _back in one piece_ but he wasn’t sure if he felt happy about it all.

 

“Did we win this one?” He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. All the lights were on in the room and he wondered if he was always going to be scared of the dark now. “Cos I’m not certain we did.”

 

“The missing kids are back with their families, and the hunt has gone.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that can be counted as a plus.”

 

“But the baker has gone back to Ireland, and the hunt own his soul.” Sam shuddered. “He is gonna have to spend his eternity hunting with them, and we may well have just put an entirely new population of people in danger.”

 

“I don’t know, Sam.” Dean laid back beside him with a sigh. “But at least we’ve gotten the children home.”

 

“With a few years’ worth of therapy.” Sam rubbed at his chest and Dean rolled over so that he could look at him, eyes luminous in his pale face.

 

“Take the win, Sam. Just take it for what it is.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Sammy.” His brother reached out a tentative hand and stroked it down Sam’s face. He shuddered then, as images of crouching down next to Dean in the darkness filled his mind. Images of a certain death, the huntsman laughing at them, tiny arrows grazing their skin. 

 

Sam’s mouth went suddenly dry. He licked his lips self-consciously and Dean smirked, the sudden heat in his eyes unexpected and all kinds of wrong. Sam felt himself lean forward unable to resist whatever force was pulling him closer to his brother. Dean gave a little sigh and pressed his dry mouth to Sam’s. Sam breathed harshly through his nose, and then opened his own mouth to welcome his brother in.

 

Dean rolled him gently onto his back and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, his fingers were slow and sure, just as they had been when he had stitched Sam up when he had cleaned Sam’s wounds. Hands that were warm rubbed patterns across his chest and knuckled down his sternum. Sam groaned and his legs fell open almost at will making room for Dean to fit between them. 

 

As if by magic Sam’s shirt was pushed from his shoulders and Dean was licking and sucking at his exposed nipples. Sam was hard now, thrusting almost mindlessly into thin air, any guilt wiped away by the myriad of sensations that were pulsing through his body. Unlike their first kiss this was not going to stop, there was no going back now. No going back from this moment, and Sam welcomed it. He welcomed the sudden warmth of Dean’s body on top of his, his brother’s mouth working its magic as he moved down lower and lower and lower until he was licking and sucking at Sam’s cock through his underwear. Sam sure he was going to come before anything else even happened.

 

It was almost like a dream. His clothes pulled from his body, naked and exposed, there for his brother to gaze at, the heat in Dean’s familiar eyes enough to make him moan out loud. He wanted this, he needed this and when their bodies joined it was like something magical was happening. Whatever sin they were committing, whatever wrong they were doing it didn’t matter now. Dean was over him, inside of him and it was pleasure and pain and he never, ever wanted it to stop. 

 

Afterwards Dean leaned over to turn off the lamp, but Sam shook his head, sticky and warm and content.

 

“No,” he whispered. “Leave it on.”

 

****

 

They were back in the bunker, case closed and a leaf from the forest pressed in a book and placed in Sam’s box of memories. They still had to find mom and Jack. They were still no nearer to the elusive ingredients for the spell, and they weren’t even sure that the case they had just worked was something they should be proud of, or that they should look at as a failure. Sam felt he would never be able to stand in the darkness of night and not hear the whinny of horses, and he often dreamed of deep, black woods and the hunt riding fierce in the navy blue sky.

 

Then Sam would look across at his brother, and Dean would grin at him; a real, genuine grin of happiness, green eyes warm and full of love. Sometimes Dean would wink and make an obscene gesture – because he was Dean after all – and Sam knew he would never change (not that Sam wanted him to). They were together in this. Always together, and for Sam, it was and had to be enough.

 

Sam felt an odd, almost unrecognizable emotion. Sam was happy.

 

Fin


End file.
